The Beholder
by Verdot
Summary: A war that never ends, and a chance at redemption, but is it all just in the eye of the beholder? implied HeinkelYumiko


**. . . The Beholder . . .**

It's no wonder that poets and writers—unrealistic ilk that they are—call sword fighting a dance.

I only wish that I were one of the dancers.

It is a rare thing, to see something beautiful in the middle of a war. Especially this war... with each day I know that we are closer to damnation. What we have paid for in exchange for our ability to kill without recourse. No one escapes the laws of God.

Not even London.

I think this is the first time I had ever noticed how fiercely beautiful our enemy was. The woman, of course. Alucard was always a terrible and ugly thing, and always will be. But Sir Hellsing... I could admire and hate her at the same time.

Especially while locked in violent combat with Yumie.

Counter, step, lunge, counter, step, lunge... a waltz beat. The drums of distant shells and the clash of their swords made a percussion to the throbbing of my head. Yes, another of those foul headaches were upon me... it was the blood that did it. Yumiko could hide from her fighter, could separate herself from the sin... all I had were these headaches. These... reminders.

"Ah, another Iscariot Pr—oh—nun," a voice, with the edge of a gentlemen and the purr of a monster. Another one of them. Wouldn't they just stay in hell so I could watch the dance?

I didn't answer, I didn't have to. Pleasantries with blasphemers that were almost equal to the devil himself didn't give me headaches; they gave me migraines. But I did have to answer him. So, I drew my gun...

Well, that's what was supposed to happen. It had been wrapped, much like most of my torso, in fine, but rather strong, wire. _Spermalecka_. But who was I to talk in that department?

"Clever trick." I had to give him the gloating time. Maybe then I could wriggle my way out of this, or at the very least, look back at the dance. The latter proved to be far more realistic.

But... they were gone. The warriors of darkness and light... Norns, battling for twilight or daybreak... they had vanished. It was then that I was beginning to feel worried. Maxwell was gone. Renaldo hadn't been in my line of sight since the beginning, since... since...

Why couldn't I remember the beginning of this war? Had there always been this war?

"Lost, little girl?" it was one of them... but this one, this one I didn't recognize. Millennium or the weakly held on allies—wait, that couldn't be... hadn't Yumie just...

"Sir Hellsing! We cannae stay here much longer! We must move!" A familiar voice. He must be my enemy to be speaking the name of Yumie's aggressor like that.

The beat of my blood against my skull has become near frantic, a rhythm of Boarischer spins going out of control. Be steady, my heart, be steady. The heretic can probably feel my heartbeat through his strings...

"Ah, so she still lingers..." he says, but not at me. The wires tighten. If only I could pull a trigger, if only I could aim... why does this foul beast waste his time with these little games?

"Let her go." A strong voice. Only Yumie's voice could be that strong... except maybe Sir Hellsing... but I have always known Yumie's voice. They entrust me with her. Haven't I always known her?

Then why would Yumiko exist in a world with so much war? Why can I remember her then?

"Then what will you give me in return? I cannot let my prey go just because some little girl does not wish it to be so..." Smooth. Like a gentleman, he really is... a gentleman of war. So cordial is his tone as he threatens.

Kill him, Yumie. You are the vessel for Yumiko's sins... kill him.

"Me." She does not draw her sword. _She does not draw her sword._ How could she be so stupid? Has she not learned? Little Yumiko, kicked around by the boys for her meekness... weren't those the stories she told? Wasn't that why... why...

As she carefully puts on her glasses, I feel my bonds loosen. My throat is constricted; my feet are too clumsy to dance... Yumiko, dance away!

Like to partners in the Sambas we used to see in South America... another war was it? They are locked in a different way as he leads. But this cannot be, what was it you used to say, Yumiko? What was it?

_You are my partner, Heinkel. Not even God can change that._

Oh God... forgive her for what I am about to do. Seems like she won out after all... but I do not need your forgiveness, Lord... just steady my hand.

"I will not let you make her unclean!" Damn the vampires, so that I may fight them in the fires of Hell. Damn the Hellsing, so that there might be something righteous left. You can even damn the Iscariot... it is our fate so that some may find your Grace.

Just let one of us make it to Heaven. Only one. And let it be her.

I don't see it, but I know its aim is true. It is sound. It is flame in my head to scorch my memories. There is... warYumie and Yumiko... just staring at me with lifeless eyes. Only shells remain here, the corruptible shells that taint the souls so much.

Leave Yumie here, and let her go.

"Let her go." Is that my voice? Or a memory? I pulled it, I felt the metal burn my hand.

"Lord God, you are the glory of the believers..."

"What a waste of flesh. At least you are still alive..."

"...and the life of the just. May you cradle our dearly departed who believe in the resurrection..."

"That is enough, Walter."

"One of us... one of us has to got to heaven..."

The woman frowned at the corpses, and lit a cigarillo, wrinkling her nose to stave off the smell of flesh that surrounded her. The only other figure standing, a man, bowed gracefully.

"Have I done well, my master?" his voice, unusually rich for such a wiry man. The woman raised an eyebrow.

"Lose the pretense. It is over." Clipped words with an equally clipped temper. He made a show of casting off his appearance, red blossoming from where he stood. The hat appeared last, and he donned it with a dandy like flourish. She smirked.

"I think you would make a fine actor if you were human." A toothy grin in response, but the eyes were moving around the room.

"Pity that she bled to death," he says, boot nudging the corpse of the short haired nun, "And that she shot the other one. Wasted virgin blood and all." The woman frowned at this, puffing smoke irritatedly.

"Well, you can blame your fledgling for that. It was going flawlessly. You need to train her; she cannot simply keep bumbling around with that giant weapon of hers." Eyes continued to scan the room.

"It is your game, my master, but why did _you_ get the priest?" Another smirk from her, this one bordering on devilish.

"Because priests are _men_. And this was days ago, why bring it up now?" she flicked ash, which slowly fell to the floor, "You were not this testy when Seras and I took care of Enrico." A chuckle, but no words were her answer. She studied the near nub of the cigarillo.

"To tell you the truth, I'm surprised the Millennium ploy worked so well. But then again, those drugs Walter conjured up did make the process a whole lot easier." She flicked the nub away, careful to keep it away from the corpses, lest her shoes get more bloodied.

"Now that the Iscariot is out of the way... what shall we do with our time?" The tease lingered in the air, with the last remnants of the smoke wafting around.

"What Hellsing and you have always done," she said, pulling out a cloth to wipe her sword, "Take out the trash."

The walls of the basement room smiled with him in response.

* * *

AN: Done for the fictionhaven theme of "character death". Should be an interesting contest. Did Hellsing cause I haven't written it for a while. Hard to write dark just after getting married, though. XD 


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